


Stripes

by kusege



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Charlie’s a teen, Cutting, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional neglect, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Self-Harm, parental neglect, suicide ideation, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 19:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18697522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kusege/pseuds/kusege
Summary: Vent fic, don’t worry about the timeline in it, I just needed someone to project onto and a horrible irony presented itself. Don’t read if self-harm or suicidal thoughts trigger you. Rated M for safety. Don’t self-harm, kids.





	Stripes

**Author's Note:**

> This is your last chance to turn back. This fic involves graphic self-harm, emotional neglect by a parent, and suicide ideation. 
> 
> Seriously, everyone, don’t self harm. It’s addictive and destroys your mental state- hence why I’m writing about someone doing it and not doing it myself. Please don’t follow Charlie’s example.

Charlie likes stripes a lot. It shows- in three out of four photos of her as a child, she’s wearing a shirt with stripes. She draws stripes in the margins of her notes, where other girls her age doodle flowers or hearts or the name of their crush. She once tried to tear off someone’s wallpaper- whose it was has morphed over the years with the tellings, but everyone can agree- there were stripes on it, and she wanted them. 

 

Stripes can be very fun to draw. Bright contrasting colors, in parallel lines, but it’s so much fun to cover a page or ten. Seeing the difference in colors and direction… the contrast is pretty, in her opinion.

 

She didn’t used to draw them on her skin, but that changed. It started with a pen, because she was sitting in class, thinking about how she didn’t have anyone who cared about her- not even her father! His work had completely taken over his life- and she was just so sad and angry. Without even thinking about it, she started drawing on her arm with the pen, staccato blue lines on her wrist. They stung, just a bit, but it was a good kind of sting. Maybe this, someone would notice.

 

And incredibly, her father did.

 

“Don’t draw on your skin, you’ll get cancer. Go wash that off.”

 

Two whole sentences! It was more attention from him than she’d gotten in weeks. She practically skipped away to go scrub the pen off her skin, rubbing it raw with the effort. Now, Charlie had a way to make him care about her.

 

But two years later, pen isn’t enough anymore. He doesn’t even blink. She needs something more shocking.

 

She flips the razor over in her fingers. It’s going to hurt, she thinks, but it can’t hurt too much more than a pen. And it’ll stand out more- red, even more than blue, is not meant to be on human skin. She’ll bleed all over everything in the house, and then her dad will  _ have _ to care about what she’s doing, and can’t just ignore it in favor of his “friend” who makes Charlie sick to think about. And now she’s thinking about him.

 

“Stop it,” she whispers to herself, shoving those thoughts away. Catching her own eye in the mirror, she almost laughs- she looks absolutely pathetic. Hair limp and greasy, like she hasn’t showered in a week, skin tinted grey from lack of sun and nutrients, eyes tinged with burst blood vessels and deep bags underneath, hand shaking. The shirt she stole from her father because she refuses to do laundry after he told her he was sick of taking care of it for her is hanging, too-big, off her shoulders. Its sleeves go just past her elbows. It has yellow and blue stripes.

 

Charlie takes a deep breath, squeezing the razor tighter in her fingers. No going back.

 

The first cut  _ hurts _ , which shouldn’t surprise her, but it does. This is so much worse than the pen- tears fill her eyes, and she gasps and whimpers. She does not scream, or let the tears drop, or put the razor down. After a few seconds of being frozen in agony, she forces her back and shoulders to relax.

 

She brings it to her wrist again, the blade cutting cleanly into her skin and causing bright, deep blood to ooze around it and run down her arm. It drips onto the counter and the bathroom tiles. It puddles into the rug she stands on.

 

Again. She’s less squeamish about blood than she used to be. Again. The pain is shocking her less and less. Again. The stripes are collecting on her arm. Again. Enough of these and she could have a whole sleeve. Again. Maybe her other arm could match. Again. Her legs would work too. Again. Cutting into her face, mutilating herself. Again. This is so strangely calming, tearing herself to shreds. Agai-

 

Her traitorous hand shakes on the next cut and it goes wrong. It slants off in an odd direction, deeper than the others, and it’s much more painful. Charlie bites back a curse. She flexes her fingers, feeling the muscles of her arm complain. She breathes in and out.

 

In. This is okay. Out. This is healthy. In. This is going to work. Out. This will be worth it in the end. In. Do you want your father’s love or not. Out. You know he doesn’t notice you anymore. In. Did he ever really love you? Out. Only one way to know.

 

She rinses the blade and sets it on the corner of the sink. It gleams silver, clean and innocent. She can clean the blood from the counters and floor later. 

 

Charlie looks up, hearing the rush of a car pulling into the driveway. Ah, and the audience is right on time. The performance is about to begin! For One Night Only (or until desired results): Charlie Emily Cries For Help! Buy your tickets now! Seats are running out fast!

 

She takes a deep breath. The sleeve of her father’s shirt has become darkened with blood. She hopes it isn’t ruined. 

 

Horizontal stripes are eye-catching. They define the contours of the body, showing where limbs end and background begins. Charlie loves them dearly. She’d wear them always if she could, if it meant her father would notice her and love her.

 

But if they fail… vertical stripes always get results.

**Author's Note:**

> You’re allowed to hate me for that really horrible bit at the end.
> 
> I’m sorry for doing this to Charlie and Henry, but Charlie was there and I already project onto her a lot anyways. 
> 
> And one last time, if you’ve made it this far: self harm is not cool, or healthy, or good for you. There are other, better coping mechanisms out there that won’t get you addicted. Please don’t cut.


End file.
